There's nothing worse on God's green earth
Than a woman with ultimate power
She'll time you when you sit on the throne
And it better not take an hour

Imagine if there was a Woman ******
Man would we be *******
You know, a woman who thinks she knows it all
But you would still swear she's a dude

A dinky little mustache beneath her nose
And a unibrow that looks like it's winkin'
I never noticed but the stubble on her chin
Kinda looks a little like Abraham Lincoln

This Woman ****** will change the world
And make slaves of all the men
She'd make a decloration that watching football
Would be the unpardonable sin

I bet you didn't know if you rearrange the letters
She's known to one and all
Just rearrange the letters in Woman ******
It's gonna spell Mother in law

The human sacrifices begin at noon. I must hurry to prepare the ruins.

Good: The pyramids retain their purity of line; the hieroglyphs balance out the skulls, more or less. Let us say, oh, two to one.

A Diego Rivera mural stretches from wall to wall of the Mayan ball court. (Are those blues really from nature?)

Heads will roll! I predict.

I need more coffee — any style. Bring me the big, steaming bowls of France that you must slurp two-handedly. Bring me the tiny espresso shots of Italy, bitter and inadequate, always calling for another cup.

Bring me café in an ornamental Mexican jar painted in bright ochres and reds. Set it on a geometrically designed serape with just a hint of purple on the fringe.

I will sop up the last drop of caffeine with my tortilla, while dining room tables multiply like serpents.

I must hurry. The sacrifices begin at noon.

Already, the humidity clings to my skin like a cheap cologne.

How stupid of me not to have worn a white linen suit, huaraches, and a Panama hat  (straw, of course).

In any case, I am the expert. My art criticism begins now.

Rivera’s human figures roll in a wave of revolutionary fervor: too rounded, too cherubic, too pastel. Industry, agriculture, fraternity, socialism. Hand me the hammer. But no bare *******, as in Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People.

A careless oversight. ****** always adds a pleasant focal point to a painting.

Suddenly, bad news breaks. The sacrifices have been called off; the ballplayers  have converted to Communism. Viva la revolución!

                                                 + + +

Frida Kahlo twirls her mustache to match the flair of Salvador Dali’s.

Her heart flutters for the Spanish surrealist, who has bug-eyes only for Gala.

Kahlo deigns to paint his portrait, which turns out to be another of her
 self-portraits. So many selves. So many portraits.

This one sports ample ****** hair and a monkey on her shoulder, who leans across to eat the gardenia behind her right ear. Or is it a carnation? Ah, carnations only calcify into clichés. Let us call it a hibiscus, and be done with it.

(Still, are those lurid colors from nature?)

I must hurry. The exhibition will begin at 2 a.m., the hour when all the wine shops close, and the retablos disappear from the churches. No respect for authority after la revolución. Only the self, the self. Always the self.

Kahlo twists her mustache into a braid for her next self-portrait: Liberty Leading the Mexican People. She squeezes into an orthopedic corset, bare-breasted.

I pull out my droopy Dali watch to eye the time. The hands cross at midnight.

I must hurry. Yet Kahlo insists I sit.

She paints my portrait with a spike through my spine, a shattered pelvis, and partial paralysis of the legs. I can no longer walk a straight line.

She thinks I am she, in trousers. The self, the self. Always the self.

My moustache grows heavier than hers, however, and I painstakingly pluck out the unibrow.

But I adore her monkey, with his close-set eyes. He eats a carnation for penance each morning, then primps before the mirror. The self, the self. The primate self.

More bad news: Dali cancels the exhibition. He has been demoralized by the retablos, which radiate beauty in six dimensions: height, breadth, length and the omnipresence of the Holy Trinity.

A genuine milagro: The streets fill with gardenias and hibiscus. The Mayan ballplayers convert to Catholicism.

A white skeleton dances with Kahlo in the moonlight. He wears her leather-and-steel braces.

No matter. I am the art critic, and I declare all Mexican colors indigenous, naturalistic, and caffeinated. Then I turn out the dining room lights.

A starry, starry night. The humidity sinks into the cenote.

Tomorrow, I shall buy a monkey and teach it to paint. All colors from nature, of course.

Okay.

You used to be a *****.

Now don’t get self conscious. We all used to be *****. Check out the period at the end of this sentence. That tiny little dot is around 600 microns wide. When you were a ***** you were about 40 microns wide. And you were so cute back then too with your little tail wagging all over the place and your love of swimming. Boy could you swim. In fact if you hadn’t outswum your siblings, you might be a slightly different version of yourself right now. Maybe you’d have a higher-pitched laugh, hairier arms, or stand two inches shorter.

You had a great life as a ***** but always felt incomplete. The truth is you weren’t whole until you met an egg. And then you two began a nine month project to make a cool new version of you. It took a while but you grew arms and legs and eyeballs and lungs. You grew nerves and nails and eardrums and tongues.

For a ***** to meet an egg it means your mom met your dad. But it’s not just them. Think about how many people had to meet, fall in love, and make love for you to be here.

Here’s the answer: A lot. Like a lot a lot.

Before they had you, none of your ancestors drowned in a pond, got strangled by a python, or skied into a tree. None of your ancestors choked on a peach pit, were trampled by buffalo, or got their tie stuck in an assembly line.

None of your ancestors was a ******.

You are the most modern, brightest spark of years and years and years of survivors who all had to meet each other in order to eventually make you.

Your nineteenth century Grandma met your nineteenth century Grandpa down at the candle-making shoppe. She liked his muttonchops and he thought she looked cute churning butter.

Your Middle Ages Grandpa met your Middle Ages Grandma while they both poured hot oil from the castle turrets on pillaging vikings. She liked his grunts and he thought the flowers in her hair made her heaving bosoms jump out.
Your Ice Age Grandpa crossing the Bering Bridge in a woolly mammoth fur met your Ice Age Grandma dragging a club in the opposite direction. He liked her saber-tooth necklace and she dug his unibrow.

Your ancient rainforest Grandpa was picking berries naked in the bush while your ancient rainforest Grandma was spearing dodos for dinner. She liked his jungle funk and he liked her cave drawings. If it wasn’t for the picnic they had afterwards, maybe you wouldn’t be here.

You’re pretty lucky all those people met, fell in love, made love, had babies, and raised them into other people who did it all over again. This happened over and over and over again for you to be here. Look around the plane, coffee shop, or park right now. Look at your husband snoring in bed, your girlfriend watching TV, or your sister playing in the backyard. You are surrounded by lucky people. They are all the result of long lines of survivors.

So you’re a survivor, too. You’re the latest and greatest. You’re the top of the line. You’re the very best nature has to offer.

But a lot had to happen before all your strong, fiery ancestors met each other and fell in love over and over again for hundreds of thousands of years …

So let’s stop for a second and pull back again. Let’s pull way, way, way, way back.

Okay.

Let’s go on a field trip. Put your shoes on because we’re heading outside.

Take a bowling ball and drop it on the edge of your driveway. That’s our Sun. Yeah, the ball is only eight inches across and the actual Sun is eight hundred thousand miles across but that’s our scale for this little brainwave. Okay, now walk down your street ten big paces and drop a grain of salt on your neighbor’s lawn. That’s Mercury. Take nine more paces down the street and drop a peppercorn for Venus. And then take another seven paces, so you’re now two or three houses down the block, and toss down another peppercorn.

You got it.

That peppercorn is Earth.

Here we are, basking in the blazing sun, twenty-six big steps away from the bowling ball. Our giant planet is just a tiny speck in the middle of nowhere but here’s the crazy part: It gets a whole lot bigger.

If you keep walking, Mars is only couple more houses away, but Jupiter ends up ninety-five big paces down the street, out of the neighborhood, and halfway to the corner store. By now a dog is probably slobbering in the bowling ball finger holes and kids are flying by you on their bikes, slurping drippy popsicles, and wondering what’s up with this nut tossing crumbs on the sidewalk, acting out some demented suburban version of Hansel and Gretel.

If you want to finish up our solar system, you’re going to have to start taking two- and three-hundred paces for the remaining planets, eventually dropping a grain of salt for Pluto half a mile away from the bowling ball. You can’t see the bowling ball with binoculars and it’s getting cold out for your long walk home.

But here’s the crazier part: That’s just our solar system. That’s just our bunch of rocks flying around our big bright bowling ball star.

Turns out our big bright star and all its salt and peppercorns are racing around a cosmic race track with two hundred billion other big bright bowling ball stars. You’d have to cover the entire Earth with bowling ***** eight thousand times to represent the number of stars in our race track. Did we mention this race track has a name? Yup, it’s called the Milky Way galaxy, presumably because the scientists who first noticed it were all eating delicious Milky Way candy bars late that Friday night down at the telescopes.

So basically our bowling ball, salt, and peppercorns are flying in the fast lane around a ridiculously giant race track galaxy called the Milky Way with billions and billions of other bowling *****, salt grains, and peppercorns, too.

But are you ready for the craziest part: That’s just our galaxy. Guess how many giant racetrack galaxies are in all of outer space? Oh, not many. Just more than we can possibly count. Honestly, nobody knows how many galaxies are out there in the big blackness. All we know is that every few years somebody stares out a little further and finds millions more of them just shining way out in the void. We don’t know how deep it goes because our rocket ships don’t blast off that far and our thickest, fattest telescopes can’t see that far.

Now, all this space talk might make us feel small and insignificant, but here’s the thing, here’s the big thing, here’s the biggest thing of all: Of the millions of places we’ve ever seen it appears as though Earth is the only place that can support life. The only place! Oh sure, there could be other life-giving planets we haven’t seen yet, but the point is that Earth could easily have been a clump of sulphur gas, be lying in darkness forever, or have a winter that dips a couple hundred degrees and lasts twenty years like Uranus.

On this planet Earth, the only one in the giant dark blackness where anything can live, we ended up being humans.

Congratulations, us!

We are the only species on the only life-giving rock capable of love and magic, architecture and agriculture, jewellery and democracy, aeroplanes and highway lanes. We’re the only ones with interior design and horoscope signs, fashion magazines and house party scenes, horror flicks with monsters, guitar jams at concerts. We got books, buffets and radio waves, wedding brides and roller coaster rides, clean sheets and good movie seats, bakery air and rain hair, bubble wrap and illegal naps.

We got all that. But people, listen up.

We only get a hundred years to enjoy it.

I’m sorry but it’s true.

Every single person you know will be dead in a hundred years — the foreman at your plant, the cashiers at your grocery store, every teacher you’ve ever had, anyone you’ve ever woken up beside, all the kids on your street, every baby you’ve ever held, every bride who’s walked down the aisle, every telemarketer who’s called you at dinner, every politician in every country, every actor in every movie, everyone who’s cut you off on the highway, everyone in the room you’re sitting in right now, everyone you love, and you.

Life is so great that we only get a tiny moment to enjoy everything we see. And that moment is right now. And that moment is counting down. And that moment is always, always fleeting.

You will never be as young as you are right now.

So whether you’re enjoying your first toothpicked turkey cold cuts and marveling at apples from South Africa, dreaming of strange and distant relatives from thousands of years ago, or staring into the blackness of deep, deep space, just remember how lucky we all are to be here right now.

If you feel that sense of wonder and beauty in all the tiny joys in life then you’re part of an international band of old souls and optimists, smiling on sidewalks, dancing at weddings, and flipping to the other side of the pillow. Let’s all high five and keep thinking wild thoughts, dreaming big dreams, and laughing loud laughs.

Thank you so much for reading this.

And thank you for being

AWESOME!

The stubble on my face
Says time to shave
The hair on my hair wild
Out of control overpowering gel
Unibrow needs to be tweezered
Mustache over laps the lip
Take the razor groom the safe
Line up the side burns
Hair comes off exposing the flesh
Nice trip to the barber
Trim the top
Shape the hair line along the neck
Groomed and clean till it all grows back

My nose it too wide
My eyes are too blue
My hair is too straight
My arms are too big
My toes are too long
My hands are too small
My shoulders are too broad.

My skin isn't tan enough
My lips aren't full enough
My hips aren't small enough
My ears aren't long enough
My neck isn't round enough
My eyebrows aren't thin enough
My birthmark isn't hidden enough.

But.

My nose has a freckle on the tip that is so cute
My eyes are round and wide, innocent they seem
My hair is thick and naturally blonde
My arms are super strong
My toenails are perfectly square
My hands are smooth
My shoulders are toned
My pale skin helps when I pretend to be a vampire
My lips are a nice shade of pink
My hips are wide, just more to shake
My ears have enough piercings to make them pretty
My neck has a scar that tells a scary story
My unibrow just means I think nonstop
My birthmark is shaped like heart; why would I want to hide that?

I look in the mirror every day
I point at my reflection
I say, "You **** thang,"
I wink at myself
And I know everything will be okay.

In a lit parlor you recite pain

Anecdote

She went missing, babe split in the night

I’m placid and have mastered jealousy

this time,

I know a friend best when I can face them leg splayed.



But that old ghost howls,



Old ghost

Old shame

Old photos alone.

I had a unibrow in one and my shirt was too big

but I thought it was stylish

And I thought I could be a model.



Whatever happened to that photo?

Where do old memories go when you toss them out

with the trash?

I always thought the garbage man must have a

fat photo album.

I guess I should be more careful

I guess I should learn to let go



I’m walking with my head held high

My hair twin serpents on my breast

And I stumble over a meaty stump-

It’s alive with larva and its eyes are ripe

And its tongue hangs out of its maw vulgarly

It laps at my ankle

“Remember me? Remember me?”

CAN’T YOU STAY DEAD

I hear myself shouting from somewhere totally vulnerable and

Why did I ever let you touch me?



Thanks so much-

I am beautiful,
don't you know that?

My pimples make other pimples
bow in awe,
gaze with uncontrollable lost,
my flabby arms make the women
sneer with envy.
The stripes I acquired on my thighs
and luscious backside have men telling me
I'm the next best thing.
My unibrow and hairs on my chiny-chin
on my unpainted face have makeup companies
selling my skin across mediterranean seas.
My diet has been written about in many
magazines,
even Homer follows my diet,
it's a very important part of life.
I never smoke,
I hear the world is going to outlaw it.

I have married every mirror I've come across
even my reflection in the ocean
has proposed.
How could I turn myself down
I am beautiful you know.

I am beautiful,
I can't believe you don't know that.

Every piece of me is beautiful
even the fungus on my toes,
but I hear it isn't good to brag.

I wrote a letter once, a letter for my mom
it was filled with deep emotion, a letter for the strong!

"A developing girl growing in all places, boys constantly attacking cruelty on their faces. Sasquatch, big foot, gorilla they taunted, a poor vulnerable developing girl they haunted.
popular girls: you're dark ugly and fat
popular boys: mustache unibrow, why you look like that?!?
silently she wiped her tears every day & every night, her heart in constant pain, her brain slowly giving up the fight. laughing & smiling while dark thoughts took over her brain; drown yourself, hang yourself, hurry before you go insane. its finally her breaking point goodbye & farewell to all, she sits to write her letter to explain it all!"

I wrote a letter once, & stuck it between my bears
I hugged my mom so tight, she never knew it was my farewell!

"I parted from her loving arms trying no to cry
she handed me a positive test, I knew it wasn't my time!
I promise to love you and protect you from everything that is bad, I'm going to be the best big sister any brother could ever have! I grabbed that letter, you know the letter full of pain, I threw that letter to the trash, had to be love on the brain!"

I wrote a letter once, a letter for my mom to read
it never got delivered, for a special baby brother seemed to intervene!

When I uproot the hairs sprouting from the glabella
and strip my cupid’s bow of its wildflowers,
Frida Kahlo writhes in her grave.

She haunts me.

“You are beautiful.”
[unibrow and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[moustache and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[sadness and all]

There will be so many
I disappoint that I,
content,
do not heed.
My mother —
Who cooks when I am not hungry.
My sister —
who frowns at my blemishes
and plucks my unibrow ferociously.
The poet slash
musician slash
magician
who calls me to ****
when his calendar is empty.
I bailed on them,
like the similes that no longer serve me,
like the poems I tossed as therapy —
You know —
The ones spun from circular conversations —
gut feelings supplemented by text messages
when you're half paying attention,
half wishing the space between buzzes would lengthen.

There will be so many irked that I,
content,
remain unresponsive.
They wish my mouth wide open,
drooling,
trained to heed queries,
They pull my time like teeth,
Blinded by the sting,
I can’t see the point
of fearing their disappointment.
Because there will be so many I disappoint,
but I, at peace.

Yellow stained teeth yet she smiles.
That smile is excuding pride.
Body hair growing wild,
Yet her arms give such warmth.
She disappears amongst a crowd.
Lurking as a helpful eye.

Men laugh at her unibrow,
Dismissing her giving heart.
Disregard of her love's vow.
She'd love with all of her being
And her pride yellow stained smile.
Yet eyes only see her flaws.

Her inner beauty shines bright,
Guiding true love through the night.

What I d remember of you
When I leave this place
Is of us exploring the foggy city in the early mornings
Is of us cozying at night infront of your fire place
Playing a deck of cards
Drinking beer with our friends
Of the love that we thought we had
Of the loss we thought we d incurred
Of the emotions vested
Of the coffee beans roasted
You and I posing for the picture
We printed on the mugs as memorabilias for the future
of your unibrow I was  once so fascinated with
of my life stories you dismissed as a simple myth
of the taste of your lips
the warmth of your coffee breath
the sharpness of your nose
of the moments we chose
of the takeout menus lying on the floor
of the house, the water and the shore
I am carrying the love with me
The memories and the shared spaces
I would try to move on without you
Without your kisses and warm embraces
Release myself from the shambles of your love
And move on to getting caged by your memories
Keep ruling me my love
For without you I am lost of my many identities.

Little imperfections,
I usually so easily ignore,
Suddenly became amplified
Since meeting someone I adore.

Get out of the mirror,
Get out of my head,
I just have to focus
On being myself instead
Of trying to be
An idealistic version me,
I just hope that she likes
Who I am.

Where to start
well there’s the obvious
teeth need brushed
and flossed
every night
and morning
I always conclude
with a gargle of
MOUTHWASH
to **** the germs
Every day a shower
or two
no I’m not addicted
but when you’re
a gym rat
it’s necessary
shampoo and conditioner
otherwise my hair becomes
a disaster
Irish spring
my choice of bar
the scent just permits
the smell of freshness
plus the LADIES LOVE IT
Hair needs combed
or brushed
otherwise it leads to
tangles and knots
Now let’s not forget
q-tips to get the earwax
OUT
the pleasure I get
from feeling clean
Now these
next couple things
may not be
as often but
they are just as
IMPORTANT
toenails and fingernails
they every couple days
need a nice trim
normally after
pressing my cuticles down
and using this neat little tool
that pushes against
the excess skin
and as it goes
it takes it off
leaving them smooth
last but not least
a file to
round the edges
to prevent
HANGNAIL
One of my least favorite
of all to take care of
most definitely is
my ****** HAIR
although I got
some fancy trimmers
I always stress
about it being perfect
nice clean lines
the curves just right
no guy wants
an uneven face
and when I’m done
and it’s all trimmed just right
I got this attachment
that’s made for
NOSE-HAIRS
every now and then
it gets caught
as I press firmly
to get them all
and it tugs hard
as I say ouch
after this though
my all time favorite thing
when it comes to
HYGIENE
aftershave
as the alcohol burns my
freshly shaved face
it makes me feel
so refreshed and clean
and leaves me smelling
so dam good
Now you cannot forget
to every so often
TOUCHUP
your eyebrows
no one wants
a unibrow
Another important part
of staying clean
and of superb hygiene
is an everyday
multiple times
ROUTINE
use as needed
DEODORANT
to help fight
any unwanted
BODY ODORS
Now somethings
are just not feasible
to do yourself
so you have to
RELY on the PROFESSIONALS
haircut , but thank GOD
It’s only an every couple weeks
AFFAIR as it’s costly
And last but not least
an important variable
the power of
using a good lotion
after each shower
to prevent dry skin
Well to each their own
I’m sure I may have missed
SOMETHING
but for the most part
this is my
HYGIENE ROUTINE

ps: Always make sure to regularly :
WASH YOUR HANDS !!